One Step to the Horizon
by Anton L
Summary: The tale of Ivan, a young man with little experience of the devastated world he inhabits. Language and violence.
1. Shelter

So.. yeah. This is my first "serious" attempt at writing, and my first piece of fanfiction. Bear with me, will you? Also, forgive all spelling/grammar errors - Not my first language, and I don't have access to a word processing program.

The story is set in the universe of Metro 2033. The setting is just about everything they have in common, at the moment.

* * *

"Snow. It is snowing." Ivan thought to himself, as the first white flakes reached the ground. This would have been rather insignificant, if not for the fact that he had never seen snow before. Or the sky, for that matter. Those little things once taken for granted was in the minds of Ivan and his brethren wonders, for most existing only in stories of past grandeur and fairy tales. Of course, there still lived people who could remembers such things - But only faintly. Memories of the past easily erodes, especially under conditions like these.

As they walked through the broken ruins of Moscow, Ivan's mind raced. Everything looked, felt and sounded just like he had thought it would, so familiar from the tales of his childhood, told by his father when the family gathered around the fireplace.. Yet, so different. So beautiful, yet so horridly disgusting at the same time. An arid wasteland, covered in the remains of a world, encrusted by a thin layer of ice.

In a distance, the terrifying howling of an unknown beast was heard. Ivan almost flinched, but was calmed by the fact that the man in front of him didn't react.

"Comrade Chuikov, did you.."

"Yes, I heard. They're called 'howlers', appropriately enough." the old man responded. "Don't worry. If they knew we were here they'd have swarmed us already." His words were a small consolation, but Ivan was still quite unsettled.

"Forgive me for asking, comrade Chuikov, but will we be there soon? We have walked for hours, and I fear that we are a bit.. too far from the station entry for our own good." Ivan hesitantly said. "First of all, would you mind stop 'comrading' me? It brings back memories.. memories better left alone. Secondly, we've only passed a few blocks. Maybe eight, maybe ten. Progress is slow with all this rubble in the way, especially considering the weather." The snowfall had increased quickly - The line of sight kept decreasing. "I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you a bit, boy.. We'll probably not make it there today. I didn't expect the weather to change so quickly.. It'll be a full storm soon. Very soon. We better find some cover for the night."

As his words faded away, Ivan froze. Spend the night up here, on the surface? They'd die, for sure. On their way here they had seen bodies, horribly mutilated bodies. Radiation, the cold, mutants.. This was madness! No, this was.. His frantic thoughts were interrupted by Chuikov, who sensed the panic the young man felt.

"Don't worry, boy. I've been through worse. The radiation won't kill us that quickly, and the cold won't be a problem if we get some shelter. As for the freaks out there.. Well, we'll have to see about that." This time, his words offered understandably less consolation.

"This looks like a good spot.." Chuikov mumbled. In front of them were what used to be a large apartment building. It had no notable features, being built in the same nondescript style as most other structures from that specific period. The front doors had been gone for years - There had been people there before, albeit with a different purpose. The windows had been busted by the shock waves, and a few parts of the building had collapsed as well. All in all however, it had fared better than most in the city. "Most of these have basements, used for garbage disposal. You know, dumpsters and things like that. With a little luck, we'll find one that's intact.." As it turned out, Chuikov were correct, as always. The experienced scavenger knew more than anyone else Ivan knew, it seemed.

The basement was in fact more than just intact - It's lock hadn't even been forced. Their predecessors probably thought it would be pointless considering the other easily obtainable things found in the rest of the building, Ivan thought. Chuikov got it open in a matter of seconds - How he did it, Ivan never found out. "A useful trick I've picked up.." the old man said quietly, most likely to himself. The basement would probably have been a fairly cosy place, if not for the apocalypse and all. Chuikov quickly found a battered cabinet hidden in a shadowy corner, left and forgotten there decades ago. With Ivan's help, he placed it firmly in front of the door, securely blocking it. "Barricades equals a higher chance of survival. Always keep that in mind, boy. Now, watch and learn.."

Chuikov rummaged through the many pockets of his scruffy greatcoat for a while, finally finding what he was looking for. It was a small, slightly rusted object, one of the shells he used in the double-barreled shotgun he carried on his back. Using a bit of string, the shell and something from his backpack - what it was Ivan couldn't see - Chuikov rigged the cabinet. "If somebody tries to get in, we'll notice." he said.

After making a small fire using some of the rubbish lying around, they settled in. Ivan took out his blanket, trying to find a comfortable position. Chuikov, on the other hand, sat staring in the flames of the campfire. "I'll keep watch tonight," he said. "You need your sleep, and I can't have mine anymore." Despite the rough floor, and the fact that sleeping with a gas mask on isn't exactly comfortable, Ivan fell asleep quickly. He slept lightly, troubled by dreams he could never remember in the morning.

BANG! The improvised alarm went off, and the small explosion quickly awoke Ivan. Chuikov was of course already up, and had withdrawn his rifle, ready to defend himself. Ivan wasn't quite as ready - He was fumbling, trying to pull out his revolver. It was small and battered but could pack quite a punch.. in the right hands. Ivan had trained at the firing range with it a bit back home, but he had no actual experience with it - Which was what he needed now.

"Who's there!" Chuikov shouted. "Friend or foe?" How he knew it not to be mutants, but sentient beings, Ivan had no idea. From behind the cabinet, by which a small trace of smoke from the shotgun shell still lingered, a laugh was heard. "Shit.. Is that you, Smuggler? Haven't seen you in a while, man.. You hear that, boys? Looks like we're in for a party.." A few muffled chuckles were heard in response. Ivan could literally see Chuikov's face grow pale beneath his mask. He tightened his grip around the revolver, fearing what would happen next.

"Hey.. Smuggler.." The voice referring to Chuikov as 'Smuggler' returned, apparently highly amused. "Remember that time, you know, in Riga? Remember how you set us up with Hansa and, ah, fled with a year's worth of shroom vodka? Remember that you fuckin' rat? You owe us, old man. Big time." At this point, the person speaking was anything but amused. After hesitating for a short moment, Chuikov brashly responded. "I don't owe you anything, Eino. I did those things after you shot me in the leg, remember? Gave me blood poisoning, you tunnel trash. Besides, I don't have anything to give you, except for a few ounces of lead to the face." Despite his cocky tone, Chuikov appeared to be scared as hell. Who ever was out there must be as unpleasant as they sounded, Ivan thought.

The men outside began to laugh again. Clearly, Chuikov wasn't impressing anyone. "Oh, old friend, you do have something I know you value highly. Your life, that would be." More laughter. It was getting uncanny. "Fuck you, Eino. There's two of us in here, well armed and with a barricade.." Chuikov said, glancing towards the old cabinet and the young man barely capable of holding his gun.

"From the sound of it, there can't be more than three of you out there. What, you still running with your old crew, Eino? If I remember correctly, they're all bloody useless." Ivan wasn't too sure if insulting the enemy was such a good idea, but Chuikov didn't look like he was going to stop anytime soon, and Ivan had no reason not to trust his judgement. Yet.

"Wrong, old man. Hansa got One-Eye, thanks to you. Took out his good eye the bastards did. But, you know, you're right about one thing. Trying to force our way in would only lead to casualties I don't want. So, we'll just blow you to hell.. Or wherever you go nowadays. Boris, would you mind nudging their 'barricade' a bit?" A low grunt was heard in response, followed by somebody thrusting himself towards the door, moving the cabinet slightly so that a small opening to the outside was made - Through which something was immediately thrown. It was a small object, wrapped in tape and with a lit fuse attached to it. A grenade, ready to turn Ivan and Chuikov, along with everything else in the small basement, into something which could only be scraped of the walls. This would have been the end of them - If not for Ivan's impulses.

Without thinking, without giving what the hell he was doing a single thought, Ivan threw himself towards the makeshift device. The fuse was already almost completely burned down, the thing would explode in a matter of seconds. As he hit the floor, Ivan grasped the grenade and put all his strength into throwing it back towards the small opening. Only two things are, in general, certain: Death and the fact that everything that can do so will fuck up. There are, however, moments when the later is averted - This was one of those few, miraculous moments. The grenade nearly missed, but somehow Ivan had managed to throw the thing back to it's origin.

A horrible scream of panic was heard, but was cut short by a massive explosion, nearly shattering Ivan's eardrums, and presumably the bodies of the men outside. The shock wave was immense, toppling the cabinet onto the triumphant Ivan. Of what that happened next, Ivan would have no memory. Everything simply turned black, before he could even realize he had saved two lives - and taken three.


	2. Predator

So.. the second chapter is up. I hope that it's not worse than the first one. Not that very many are going to read this, but what the hell..

* * *

"Wake up, boy." Chuikov shook the now, after a few hours of unconsciousness, at least semi-awake Ivan. "We don't have all day, you know. The sun have been up for hours.. We better get moving if we want to reach our destination. The snowstorm has moved on, by the way." Ivan blinked a few times, still quite dizzy. "Wha.. what happened, Chuikov?" he mumbled.

"Oh, nothing special. Some bandits tried to kill us, but you retaliated. Then you were deviously attacked from behind by a set of drawers. The bastard gave you quite a hit, it did. Nothing to worry about though, I've seen far worse. You must have a guardian angel - that was quite a blast." the old man noted, seemingly trying to not chuckle a bit. "Now, let's go. I've told you why once, and I don't like repeating myself." Chuikov helped Ivan up on his feet. The young man quickly gathered what little gear he had. It didn't take long. Within a minute, they were set to go "Boy, you.." Chuikov began, with an odd tone to his voice. "You might want to, you know, shut your eyes until we're out of the building." Without a word, Ivan followed Chuikov's advice as the old man opened the basement door, which was after the explosion hanging on one hinge.

A wise decision. The staircase leading up was not a pretty sight, and Chuikov had feared that seeing the consequences of his actions might traumatize his young - very young - companion, who he had subconsciously come to think of as a very close friend. Chuikov knew that in the harsh world they inhabited, you needed to take care of your friends. Especially those who had saved your life.

They finally left the now somewhat less intact basement, and again began wandering towards a distant objective through the broken streets. As they did so, Ivan found himself no longer caring about the snow, the sky or the city, all which yesterday had seemed so important. He didn't even give the constant threat of a mutant attack a single thought. His entire mind was focused on one single subject: He had killed. Taken the lives of three, despite their actions, fellow human beings. Three complete strangers, dead at his hands. The thought that he did what he did in self-defence didn't cross his mind. Even if it had done so, it's doubtful if it would have had any effect.

"Comrade Chuikov, I.." Ivan begun, only to be interrupted. "I recall saying something about that word, no?" Chuikov said, slightly annoyed. "Sorry, it's a reflex. It's mandatory in.. Never mind. What I wanted to ask was.. have you ever killed?" The old man stopped in his tracks and turned around. "As a matter of fact, I have." he said, coldly. "I know exactly what you are feeling, boy. You have done nothing wrong. It was us or them, and they deserved it." He did of course not mention the fact that he himself most likely belonged in the 'deserving' category. Once again, his words did little to sooth Ivan's misery.

"Now, all this is making me unhappy as well." Chuikov exclaimed, intending to turn Ivan's mind away from the grim subject of death. "Let's talk about something else, boy. How are things at home? Got somebody special waiting for you when you get back?" From past experiences, Chuikov had learned that discussing home, family and friends was a good topic for lightening up a conversation. Once he had even made a Nazi _stabsführer_ cheer up by making him talk about his newborn daughter, and those guys were pretty damn cold. Surprisingly enough, this did not seem to be the case now - Ivan appeared to sigh heavily under his mask. "No. I don't." he said, in a somewhat awkward, distant tone. "Really? A strapping young lad like yourself? I'd expect the ladies to be swarming around you, boy. How about relatives, then?"

The young man merely shrugged. "My aunt and my dad. Nobody else." Chuikov decided to drop the subject, for understandable reasons. They continued on through the bleak landscape in silence.

Ivan was again returning to his dark thoughts - albeit with a different subject: Home. Thoughts of his meagre housing, little more than a glorified hole in the wall in the outskirts of the station. Thoughts of his family. Father, kind but distant, always busy. Aunt Karinka, compassionate yet stern. Mother, dead and almost forgotten. Almost. It was thinking about her that made said thoughts dark. Ivan, desperate to get away from the vague shadows of the past, did his best to push away the thoughts of his mother. "So.. 'Smuggler'.." he began. "Why did they call you that? Are you some kind of wanted criminal?" Any subject, no matter how pointless, would help if it distracted him. Although, he was somewhat nervous about how the old man would respond.

Chuikov almost seemed as if he had been preparing for questions like these. "Wanted, yes. Criminal, no. I don't consider what I did to be a crime."

"Which is.." Ivan said curiously. He realized now how little he knew of his companion. Just about only his name - surname, that is. "I hauled goods, mostly dirt ammo and canned food, through Hansa's blockades to various independent stations in the outskirts of the Metro. Dirt poor stations, due to Hansa's rather extreme tariffs, I might add." Ivan was quite relieved - Chuikov had in fact done something good, working against Hansa - who, he had been told for most of his life during the mandatory indoctrinations once a week, were deceitful capitalists. The truth that the Party teached was the only one he knew. The right amount of propaganda could do wonders to a populace.

"Sorry for asking, but.. how long until we're there? And, ah, where are we going? You never told me about our des.." The final word was cut short. Ivan silenced quickly, as the old man abruptly stopped, raising his hand and signaling to him to down - and quickly. They both crouched, and Chuikov immediately took cover behind what used to be a car, and Ivan followed suit. "Chuikov, what.." he tried, but was quickly hushed at.

"Keep quiet, you fool." the old man whispered, pointing towards something high up on a rooftop - a dark figure. Ivan gasped, realizing what it was: A demon. A truly nightmarish creature - large, black, winged and with fangs and claws capable of ripping off the your head almost effortlessly. "Shit.. I knew were getting away too easily. This explains why we haven't seen a single mutant.." Chuikov mumbled. "Don't make any loud noises or quick movements, boy. There's probably a nest full of 'em somewhere around here - the damned things have a habit of nesting, mating, killing and eating everything alive for a few miles around and then moving on. Shit." Ivan was only an inch from despair at this point.

Chuikov pointed towards Ivan's backpack. "Didn't you have a pair of binoculars? Get them out and take a closer look at the bastard up there. Slowly. It should have spotted us by now, as unstealthy as we were walking.. Check what's holding it up." Ivan obeyed. It was hard to see anything with the binoculars with the gas mask in the way, but if you looked closely you could almost see..

Ivan froze, chills going down his spine. The demon hadn't noticed they because it was busy feeding on.. somebody. One glance towards Ivan told Chuikov everything he needed to know. "I feared as much." he mumbled, sighing. "No time to waste. Let's move on while the bastard is distracted. Hopefully, the poor bugger up there with it will buy us enough time to get away safely." Afterwards, they'd would regret those words. Tempting fate was never a good idea. From right behind them came the one sound they did not want to hear right now: The very distinct roar of a demon ready to attack.

Acting on instinct, Ivan tumbled to the left, out of the demon's immediate reach. Chuikov, unusually, was not as quick. Age always takes it's toll in the end, no matter how skilled you are. Ivan turned around just in time to see the mutant fiercely gripping Chuikov, holding him down. He quickly reached for his revolver, desperate to help out - It was nowhere to be found. Instead, he grabbed his knife. It was tiny but sharp as hell, and it would have to do. He didn't have much time - Chuikov would be torn to pieces within a few seconds if he didn't act.

With a sudden surge of strength the young man threw himself onto the beast's back, with one hand holding on to it and with the other stabbing the knife into it's thick neck. The demon quickly let go of Chuikov and turned around to face it's assailant, almost throwing off Ivan. He stabbed again, his right hand now flecked in blood. As he hit a third time, he could feel the blade touching it's spine. The demon let out another roar, now mixed with pain and panic. Even a creature as monstrous as this could know fear, apparently.

After a short moment of internal struggle, and another final stabbing from Ivan, the demon collapsed. Ivan immediately got up and rushed over to Chuikov, who was still lying on the icy street, and.. "Shit! Chuikov, get up!" The demon up on the rooftop had stopped feeding when it heard the final call of it's mate, and came quickly flying down to avenge it's death.

"Chuikov, we gotta.. " Ivan yelled. No response. He grabbed his seemingly unconscious friend and began dragging him away. A few metres down the street was a large but shallow crevice, created by unknown forces. In it Ivan could see a big, rusted and broken sewage pipe sticking up through the ground, cracked open by.. something. It had once probably been covered by a manhole at the top, but that part of it was long gone. He desperately tried to drag Chuikov over there, heading for the pipe - the only at least possible way to escape within reach. The demon was still a fair distance away, but was closing in very fast.

Just as Ivan was almost able to touch the pipe, he realized he wouldn't make it if he didn't do something. He pulled Chuikov's shotgun of the old man's back and turned around, aiming towards the mutant behind him. The demon was only a metre and a half or so away, preparing to claw his face off. Ivan pressed the worn trigger. The shotgun merely clicked. It wasn't loaded.

The demon threw itself towards him. Panicking, Ivan acted on impulse again - it was becoming a habit. Using the shotgun, he bashed the approaching beast across it's deformed snout. It wasn't expecting that reaction. The mutant was stunned, stopping in it's tracks. In a final effort Ivan violently threw the gun at it, grabbed Chuikov and used every little ounce of strength left in him to push the old man into the pipe, then threw himself into it as well.

They fell far down through the rusted pipe into the dark underground, landing softly. For the second time in a very short period, Ivan was knocked out cold.


End file.
